


Toys in the Attic

by gypsiangel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Child Abuse, F/M, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Major twisting of plot, Psychic Abilities, Reader-centric fic, This wouldn't leave me alone, but they have to work for it, haven't done this style before, hope it doesn't suck, mentions graphic attempted suicide, totally self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:31:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9649799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsiangel/pseuds/gypsiangel
Summary: Your eyes went unfocused and you could see the gentle genuineness in him. It was like a golden halo around him, tinged with white and blue. When he came closer, holding a tray filled with bowls of soup and a plate of bread with butter and honey, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. He was so pretty, those lights dancing around in a beautiful, almost understated flow. It changed as he came closer, more blues than yellow. It reminded you of a Christmas display you saw in a shop window once when you were passing out flyers downtown.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, I know I have a ton of work-in-progress I need to be working on... But some of the amazing reader-centric fics I've read in this fandom have kicked my muses into high gear and I had to try my hand at it. Hopefully it isn't horrible, and please forgive me if it is. Lol, I've even taken to bringing a notebook with me to work so I can quietly hide and scribble bits and pieces while I'm supposed to be productive. As always, thanks for reading! And I'll have another chapter up for one of my other stories very, very soon.  
> 

         There was very little light over the bridge stretching out over this part of the river. The cold seemed to cut straight through the thin layers of your sweater and coat, the threadbare material doing little to protect you from the high wind. There was a storm rolling in, leaving the night sky even darker than normal as thunder rumbled in the distance. You wondered if there was any possibility that there would be lightning overhead. That might be a nice touch, you thought with a wry twist of your lips as your feet dangled over the ledge of the walking pathway to the side. There was just enough room for your bony backside and it wasn’t necessarily comfortable, the iron biting into the tender flesh of the backs of your thighs. That was okay, though. You weren’t going to be there long.

          Cautiously, you raised a hand to tuck a wild tangle of hair behind your ear, the action made futile as the wind tugged it right back into your face. Ignoring it, you focused your gaze on the black, swirling water under you. Vaguely, you remembered a time when you were very young and someone tried to teach you how to swim. Sunlight danced through your memories, a distant feeling of warmth on bare limbs and a laughing face kissing your cheek when you came ashore. There wasn’t much sunlight in your world now, and when there was it was nearly unbearable, the rays burning down on fair skin, the heat suffocating in its intensity with little relief.

          You leaned forward, your hands starting to cramp a little from their white-knuckled hold on the railing under you. You wondered if it’ll hurt when you hit it, when the force of your fall is stopped by the glistening water below. The bridge was at its highest here, and you’d thought about it often enough that you knew if you landed just right, it would snap your neck easy enough. If the jump didn’t do the job, the freezing water would soon enough.

           Fear was tight in your throat, but there wasn’t any doubt that this was what you needed to do. There wasn’t any other option, not anymore. You couldn’t go back, even if you wanted to. There would be more than beatings this time. You could see it in her, the same way you could see a lot of other things you shouldn’t be able to see. It would be so easy for her to have you locked up. She’d said it over and over again, how lucky you were that she didn’t just put you in one of those _hospitals_ where they would lock you up like the lunatic you were. She told you that only she knew the truth, that it was really the devil whispering to you those awful truths, those dark secrets that you shouldn’t know. The beatings were to save you, to drive him back and to stop the voices.

          Stop the voices. Stop. That’s all you wanted. Silence, just for a while. Suicide was a sin, you reminded yourself as your vision became blurred by tears. It guaranteed a spot in purgatory, just for you. Along with all the other weak cowards that couldn’t see another way out. But wasn’t that what your life was now? Some nightmare dressed up as living? You scooted closer to the edge, the railing resting just under the line of your backside. It bit deeper into the bruises and welts left from the last whipping, the sting of it making your stomach clench. It was going to be over and you’d not have to be under the belt ever again.

          “Hey!” The shout came through the blowing wind, almost too low for you to hear it, and for a moment you thought it might be one of the voices again, just not as clear. Maybe they were scared they were going to be losing their conduit, that once you were finally gone, there wouldn’t be anyone else. You wanted to sob, to shout back and tell them to go away. Just _go away!_ But your throat was full, thick with fear and pain. If it was someone there to stop you, someone real and not in your head, they really would lock you away. You were underage and female, there was nowhere else for you to go. You didn’t have a choice as it was, your mother… you couldn’t go back. You _wouldn’t_ go back.

          “Hey! Please, don’t! There’s a different way!” The voice was male and coming closer. You squeezed your eyes shut so hard you could see the little sparks of light behind your lids. Pounding footsteps came to a thundering stop and you could feel him behind you, a few feet away, to your left. When you finally looked at him, he seemed familiar. Real, he was really standing there, pale skin near glowing in the dim lantern light. His black hair swirled around his head, the contrast of it almost unnatural, just as his dark, dark eyes shone at you from a pained face. He looked like he might cry and that struck you as being so odd. Why would he cry seeing you here? “Please, Baby, don’t. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry, but I’m here again. I’m so sorry it took me so long to get back. I had to go away.”

          Baby? No one had called you that since Mary Lou had renamed you when you came into her care. No child of hers would be called something so inane and childish. You remember sobbing as she took a switch to you when you didn’t recognize the new name, when you refused to answer to it. Everyone else had been forbidden to call you that, just as they were to forget their own birth names. It didn’t matter what came before, only what Mary Lou Barebone decreed was law. Even Modesty and Cree… Credence? Your head snapped up and your eyes sharpened on his face, that beloved face that you felt sick that you’d forgotten. How could you have forgotten what he looked like? His was the first face you had ever associated with something good and kind. He was the one that had made sure you were safe and fed, even when it meant that he went without. He had been the one to go against Mary Lou to take you to a hospital when she lost her temper and went too far when you were seven, slamming your head against the porcelain of the dreaded bathtub when you fought against the scalding water of your weekly bath.

          His was the first face you saw when you came out of the delirium, before the voices started. A sob choked you as you tried to say his name, the sound that came out nothing more than a pathetic cry. How could you have forgotten him? Another man ran up behind him then, tall and lanky under layers of clothing, hair disheveled over a pale forehead. The wind was roaring around you, the storm really picking up steam now. The thunder was right above you, and the water was near frothing under your feet.

          “Hello,” the man’s voice was gentle and quiet as he sided up beside Credence, a bare hand resting on his back as he regarded you with a carefully neutral expression.

          “Baby, please, come down. I’m so sorry it took me this long to come back,” Credence barely acknowledged the other man, his focus entirely on you as he slowly approached. You shook your head, fingers tightening on the railing. He didn’t know. He _couldn’t_ know the evil that festered underneath, coiling through your mind like a poison. You _knew_ things, things that only a demon… only a _witch_ would know, and he knew exactly what needed to happen to witches. You didn’t want to burn. You couldn’t bear the thought of him looking at you with that horrible understanding, that disgust and hatred you saw every time your mother looked at you, whenever Modesty avoided your touch and Chastity watched you with those cool eyes that just waited for the next time you had one of your fits so she could go get Mama.

          You shook your head, your chest painfully tight. “I c-can’t, Cree. I have to- to go,” you told him, shouting to be heard over the roaring storm. “I can’t s-stay, I’m sor-sorry.”

          “No! No, you don’t have to do this!” He sounded desperate, reaching for you as he rushed forward.

           You jerked as he came too close and in a split second, you let go of the railing and pitched forward. You couldn't let him know, you just couldn't let him see. It was best that he didn’t know what had become of his darling Baby. His scream was unearthly and it echoed as you plummeted, but even as you closed your eyes and waited for impact, there was something happening. Your body slowed and it felt as if you were encased in static electricity, like a cloud of tingling softness. When you opened your eyes, you couldn't see anything but a black haze with random bits of red, crackling light. Oh, God. You didn’t think it would be so fast. Everything in you froze as you thought that this is it. This was the hell that you’d been indoctrinated to believe in. You waited for the pain, for the torment to start. Instead, you felt yourself being lifted and carried somewhere else.

           A sickness coiled in your stomach, the usual hollow ache replaced with acute nausea as you’re maneuvered at what feels like a horribly fast speed. You closed your eyes against the rushing black and red, but the sick didn’t go away. When you finally stopped, everything seemed to go solid around you, and you were held tightly against a hard body, arms wrapped around you and your face pressed against a broad chest. The anguish coming through from his body to yours was overwhelming and even though you knew it was Credence, your beloved Credence, you struggled to get away. No, he can’t know this about you. He can’t! You could feel the fit starting, the _knowing_ creeping in to take over, the words building up behind your teeth as you desperately tried to keep it back.

          He let you go and you stumbled back, tripping over legs that were far from steady. “Baby, I’m not going to hurt you. Shh, it’s all right, I know you’re scared and I-” He felt guilty, old words in Mary Lou’s voice echoing through his head as he fell to his knees in front of you. He’s grown since the last time you remembered seeing him, the picture of it creeping up from the black void of where your memories of him must have been stored. He was tall and muscular, regular meals and healthy labor filling out the potential he’d nearly been cheated out of. He had always been bigger than you, you being the runt of the house. That hadn’t changed, but you felt that difference now as you could see yourself through his eyes.

          Ragged, tangled hair wild around your face, blood seeping from a cut above your eye that you hadn’t realized was still bleeding, a purpling bruise covering the sharp angle of your chin and jawline. More bruises along the collar of your blouse, the top buttons popped from where Mama had gripped you by the front as her wild blows had rained down. He felt sick at the sight of you, that guilt growing into a tide of self-loathing and pity. You scrambled back, trying to put distance between you before he realized what a horrid creature you were. The words were building and building, more illicit information seeping in from everywhere. The rooms you were in… they were his. He shared them with the auburn-haired man, they were… they were more than just companions. Your vision started to fade out and you could feel the ticks starting as you fought against the evil that swarmed from all points.

           He was loved. Your fondest, deepest wish for all your fellow captives had been for them to escape Mama’s grasp and to find kindness. Credence had. You watched as magic swirled around them, two bodies linked, soul to soul, body to body. You saw the lanky stranger hold Credence tight when he got up in the night to pace, tormented by demons that should have been long since dead. You saw him smile.

           You saw an angry cloud, destructive, killing, raging. You saw a dark-haired man, touching in an alleyway, shouting and hurting in the underground subway tunnels. Pain, so much pain. It ripped through everything, pulling you apart from the inside out, like someone had put their hand inside and started pulling out your innards. You didn’t realize you were screaming until it stopped, a dim thought of acknowledgement before your eyes rolled to the back of your head and you didn’t feel anything else.

*~*~*

           Everything was dim and soft when you opened your eyes again. There was a golden glow, gaslight or candles lighting the small room. There was a sense of being lived in, of a warm affection that was just as nice and welcoming as the pile of blankets covering you. You couldn't remember ever sleeping in such a cocoon of gentle fabrics, the mattress under you so fluffy that it was like lying on air. When you moved, you realized that you’d been changed into a pair of cloth pants and a long-sleeved shirt that swarmed you. It smelled like Credence and when you inhaled, you knew that everything was all right.

           At the thought, though, bits and pieces of what happened started to come back, and your eyes filled with tears and your heartbeat started picking up. Credence. He was here. He’d pulled you from the air, plucked you up right before you hit the water. You must have made some sort of sound, because you felt the mattress dip with added weight and a familiar hand stroked down the back of your head.

            “It’s okay, Baby.” The sound of Credence’s voice made your breath hiccup as the sobs jerked out of your chest. _Weak._ You were so damn weak. The voices were quiet now, as they usually were after an outburst, having said what they needed to say. Even with him touching you, they stayed back. The damage was already done, but the quiet was even more miraculous than seeing him again, feeling him again. When he drew you up and into his arms, you go with a pained whimper.

           He cried into your hair, cradling you in his lap like he had when you both were so much smaller. He pressed his face into the mess of your hair, repeating, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice was wrecked as he tried to keep himself together for your sake; he needed to be strong, to keep it together.

            "No,” you whispered, holding so tight it was as if you could crawl inside and just disappear into him. “No, Cree, no. You had to go. Mama wasn’t… she could have killed you. I don’t remember, I forgot, and I’m sorry. I couldn’t remember you. God, Cree, I don’t know how I could have forgot.”

            “Baby, it’s okay,” he crooned, rocking you the same way he had when you were little. “Shh, shh, it’s gonna be all right now. You never have to go back, you’re safe. Newt and I came back for you. You’re old enough now, and I’m better. No one can take you back, and we don’t have to hide.”

            You pushed back at that, staring at him as if he had just said that the sky was green. He was serious, eyes fathomless and black in the dim light.

            “You don’t know what you’re saying,” you whispered, a fission of despair threatening to grow and crush you. “Cree… You don’t… you don’t know. I’m not- the voices… they… it’s not. Please, I can’t let you be exposed to that evil. Mama’s right. She tried to beat it out of me, but it won’t go away.”

            Credence looked as if he were going to be sick, staring at you in horror. You misinterpreted his reaction, already bracing for him to push you away, to shove you out the door with a swift kick for good measure. Or to call the sanitarium to come for you. You would rather die. But when he merely pulled you back into his chest and tightened his hold, you were confused. No, he saw what the evil did. He saw you in the throes of a fit, he shouldn’t be touching you. It would just bring the bad back, it would start the whispers again, when that _thing_ inside you wasn’t exhausted and sated.

            “Cree, you can’t… I’m bad, you c-can’t bring me in like this, it’s not going to end well,” you sobbed into his neck, feeling him tremble with high emotion. It pained you to say it, but the words were falling out before you could stop them, “Please, let me go, there’s o-only one way to stop it.”

            He was suddenly gripping your arms so tight that his fingers bit into the bruises already lining the painfully thin flesh, holding you so he could stare into your face, his own expression agonized as he searched your eyes. “No, Baby. I can’t let you do that. There’s nothing evil about you. Those voices aren’t evil, sweetheart. They’re not.”

            The door to the bedroom opened slowly, letting in a soft cacophony of strange sounds, almost as if there were dozens of animals trying to communicate all at once. You remembered the auburn haired man from the night before, from Credence’s memories. He was taller than you thought, built with a wiry grace that wasn’t covered with layers of coat, sweaters, and scarfs. His smile was sweet and shy, something you can’t recall seeing on a man before. Most of the men that came to the church didn’t smile, and if they did, they made your skin crawl with it. There were some that tried to get you alone in the back rooms, after service as Mama worked the room to garner support for her crusade. You remembered one time when one of them had even put his clammy, sweaty hands under your skirt, groping and hurting in his haste. When you instinctively lashed out, swinging a balled-up fist, he’d told Mary Lou that you had propositioned him with your sly, wicked ways and when he had spurned your advances, you struck out in violence. That had been one of the worst beatings you’d ever endured.

            You had learned to listen to those cursed voices when they told you things, when they whispered to go hover near one of your sisters, or to make up an excuse to help Mama with the soup. There hadn’t been anymore quiet time where you could lurk in the background with your mother’s attention somewhere other than watching you with those sharp eyes.

            Credence’s friend wasn’t anything like that. Your eyes went unfocused and you could _see_ the gentle genuineness in him. It was like a golden halo around him, tinged with white and blue. He wouldn’t harm you, or Credence. When he came closer, holding a tray filled with bowls of soup and a plate of bread with butter and honey, you couldn’t stop yourself from staring. He was so _pretty,_ those lights dancing around in a beautiful, almost understated flow. It changed as he came closer, more blues than yellow. It reminded you of a Christmas display you saw in a shop window once when you were passing out flyers downtown. It had taken your breath away, but this… this was… You realized that your hand was raising to touch him and you shrunk back against Credence again, blinking furiously to try to get your vision back to normal, shaking your head as if you could clear it of this devil given curse.

            “It’s okay, Baby,” Credence told you, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “This is Newt.” He seemed to not quite know how to proceed and just left it at that.

            When Newt put the tray of food on a small table beside the bed, he waved a long, polished stick toward the door and another tray with a teapot and all the assorted things needed for tea floated in thin air toward you. You watched in awe as he waved it again and the table morphed and grew, becoming large enough to hold everything. You shivered as the air seemed to come alive around you, that energy sparking much like you imagined soft lightning would. You could _see_ it, and it made your eyes fill with tears at how stunning it was. You gripped tight to Credence, your mind spinning as the contradictions were fighting for dominance.

            This man standing over you was a witch, just like Mama had always said. But how could something so beautiful be evil? “Mama was wrong,” you whispered, voice thick and almost absent-minded as your fingers itched to reach out and touch. “Mama has to be wrong. There’s no way…”

            “There’s no way for what, Baby,” Credence asked you, concern heavy in his tone. He stroked your arms and back, his touch reassuring. You didn’t like to be touched, but for him, only for him, was there an exception. Credence had always been a safe person for you, someone that didn’t make your skin crawl with ungodly thoughts that weren’t supposed to be for your knowing. Those years without him had been so bleak. You hadn’t known he was missing, yet you’d known there was a part of you gone, an important part.

            “Can you see it,” you asked, your voice still a reverent whisper as you take in the threads of magic connecting everything around you. Once you noticed it in the other, strange man, you notice it in everything. The various colors seemed to range from brilliant orange to a subdued purple. “It’s so beautiful. How could something so… how could it be evil?”

            The man Credence had introduced as Newt knelt on the floor by the bed, putting his face at level with yours. “What exactly do you see, Miss Barebone,” he asked, green-gold eyes darting over your face, taking you in before finally locking on your eyes. You didn’t do well with eye contact. It was much like touch- you always saw too much when you gazed into someone’s eyes for too long. It was easy to get sucked in. But just like the voices were quiet after a fit, so was the _knowing_ , and they were just eyes.

            “Colors.” Your hand reached out before you could stop it, visibly shaking, and you touched his freckled face with just the tips of your fingers. “You’re all sorts of shades of gold and soft red. There’s some blue, in sparks… light blue going to dark, random places.” He kept absolutely still, barely breathing as you touched his forehead, then his cheek in childlike wonder. There was dried black on your hands from where you’d wiped at the blood on your face earlier, trying to clear it from your eyes. You withdrew suddenly, realizing that you shouldn’t be touching him; Mama was wrong about witches- about him, but she wasn’t wrong about you.

            “I’m sorry,” you whimpered suddenly, trying to pull away from Credence too. He was happy here with his witch, with the life he had built away from Mama, and you, away from the sickness that permeated the horrible place you both had grown up in. Away from the filth of evil that boiled just under your skin. You couldn’t ruin that. “I- I can’t. I shouldn’t… I’m sorry.”

            Credence seemed to know what was going through your head and he tightened his arms around you, easily keeping you from squirming away and bolting. “Don’t, Baby, please, it’s okay. I promise, it’s okay.” He sounded close to tears again, and the pain in his voice made you hesitate. You never wanted to hurt him, ever.

            “Can’t you see,” you asked, almost desperately, a hand insistently pushing on his chest. “I’ll ruin everything. I’m dirty inside and I can’t get clean! Please, don’t!” There was hysteria climbing up again, your voice rising as you tried to wrestle away. He wasn’t letting you go and panic started to take over. Undersized and underfed, it wasn’t much of a contest, even when you started kicking out, narrowly missing hitting Newt with the heel of your bare foot. He dodged and muttered a single word, waving the wooden stick again. Suddenly you felt lethargic, all the fight draining away. Your eyes became heavy as you slumped against Credence with a whooshing sigh.

            “I’m not…” your voice was slurred, and the last thing you saw before you lost consciousness was Credence’s tear-streaked face staring down at you.

*~*~*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and kudos guys! I know this kind of story isn't usually well received, so even minimal support is keeping it going :D I'd write it anyway, because I like writing it, but posting is a different matter all together. <3 I muck with the timeline and there are some obvious changes to cannon (of course, there always is ;) ) Hopefully they're self-explanatory, but if it's confusing at all, drop me a line. Cheers, and I hope you like it!

 

*~*~*  

          It took three days for them to convince you that they very much wanted you to stay and they weren’t taking no for an answer. Or at least, Credence wasn’t taking no for an answer because Newt was very adamant that while he believed that you were safest with them, it was a prerogative that he observed that pesky thing called ‘free will’.

          “Darling, if you really want to leave, there is nothing stopping you,” he told you finally, when it was just the two of you. Newt had sent Credence out for some fresh air, arguing that it had been too long since he’d been topside. Overprotective and not wanting to let you out of his sight again, Credence had almost argued, the lines of his face falling into a precious scowl before he finally nodded and left after pressing a kiss to Newt’s temple. It was something that was very new. The Barebone children _did not_ argue, and they didn’t initiate touch. Funny enough, that’s what had convinced you that everything was truly all right. Seeing a spark of obstinate rebellion in the boy that had taken more than his share of beatings for just existing… it had changed your mind about Newt.

          You had stared down at your fingers as they toyed with the sleeve of your borrowed shirt. It was Newt’s, the soft cream material still dwarfing your much smaller figure. It fit much better than Credence’s, and you really didn’t have anything else to wear. There had been talk of new clothes and shopping to be done once you arrived in London that twisted your insides something fierce. You didn’t have any way to repay him, to repay either of them. Mama had always… No. You closed your eyes briefly. No, Mama wasn’t there, she had no say in what happened.

          “I don’t want to burden you,” you whispered, the words heavy on your tongue. Tears, so infuriatingly close to the surface, wanted to drop. “I- Credence deserves a life without such a reminder, and you… you don’t need…” You swallowed hard, stopping when your voice breaks. When you looked back up at him, he’s watching you with those steady golden forest eyes of his. You’d noticed that he only kept still when it was of utmost importance, when he was dealing with some of his more skittish animals… when he was speaking with you.

          “What I need,” he started slowly, and even more slowly reached out to touch your hand where it was nearly twisted completely in the over-abundance of material at your wrist. When you didn’t jerk away, he oh, so gently eased your cold fingers into his warm ones. “Is to make sure you and Credence are safe and cared for. Don’t worry about me, love. I know what I’m doing. And our Credence would never be able to live happily knowing you were in danger, or cold, or hurting. Or back on a bridge.”

         You looked at the long, freckled hand that dwarfed yours, eyeing the scars that crisscrossed and matted the once fine skin. You touched a finger from your other hand to a twist of scar tissue in the soft flesh where his thumb met his index finger. He’d gotten these saving beings much like yourself, scared and starving and viciously misunderstood. But you weren’t a creature, not so easily confined to a suitcase, no matter how grand. There would be times where he could get hurt because of you, because of your very nature. You weren’t as potentially violent as Credence, or as powerful. But the evil that persisted under your skin, in your mind… you didn’t know where it could go. And it wasn’t fair to ask him or Cree to have to deal with the fallout of your fits.

          “Why don’t you come with me for a moment,” Newt said, that sweet smile playing at his mouth again as he tugged at your hand, pulling you to your feet. When you stop to hold the sleep trousers that he’d loaned you from falling from your hips, that smile turned shy and he ducked his head for a moment, “If you would like, I could transfigure those to fit a bit better? I hadn’t offered before as I remembered how hard it had been for Credence when he was first getting used to magic.”

          Magic. That very thought made your shoulders tighten at the memory of Mama’s heavy hand. But you were fascinated with it, the feeling of it all around you. It wasn’t a bad feeling, and it had danced all around you since you’d woken up here with them. It felt warm and nice, like finally finding what you’d thought home would feel like. Or the type of home you’d read about in the books you’d smuggled into your room at the church before Mama found them.

          You looked at him with impossibly wide eyes and nodded reverently. “P-please,” you said, a little too seriously before averting your eyes to stare down at the floor. You admitted in a tone even softer than before, expecting a slap as the words tumbled in a blasphemy that would have gotten you nearly killed a few weeks ago, “I don’t think magic is bad, sir. It… it’s too pretty for that, too warm. Mama’s fond of saying that beauty leads to sin, but it’s more than just pretty. It’s soft, and it… it feels safe. Everything about Mama’s world hurt. It was cold and dark and I was always afraid. But here I’m not.”

          Newt was staring at you as if he’d just discovered something holy, and the reverence you glimpsed in his expression made you uncomfortable and you shifted in place, eyes darting back down to stare at your bare toes peeking out from under the fabric pooling at your feet. “You and Credence are both such marvels,” he whispered as his fingers squeezed yours. “Such miracles to have survived what you have.”

           You shook your head, disbelieving and a bit embarrassed. He maybe didn’t understand. It wasn’t remarkable at all that such evil persisted under Mary Lou’s heavy hand. You knew you weren’t going to leave them now, and in that moment, you hated yourself even more for your selfishness because you also knew that they would be so much better off without you there.

         You waited, shivering, as Newt took out his wand, which he’d explained was a focus for his magic, and transfigured the material around you into a simple skirt and blouse, keeping the brown and cream as colors. You were glad that the fabric itself didn’t change, as the softness of it was something that you didn’t think you’d ever want to give up. When he was done, he retook your hand, and tugged you out of the tiny home you hadn’t left yet.

        “Come now, I want you to meet someone.”

*~*~*

         Credence found the two of you in the nundu habitat, the giant magical feline curled up around you, her purring so loud it seemed to rumble the very ground. You hadn’t known how to react to her when you first saw her, but when those pearlescent black eyes met yours, you hadn’t been able to stop from approaching her. Newt had hovered nervously behind you, ready to apparate the two of you to safety if Cora decided to take offense. But the nundu had stayed perfectly still, and you watched the tiny sparks of universe swirl in her irises, taken in by the intelligence and the feral mother vibe she was projecting. You knew that she’d lost her cubs in the life before, that they’d been taken and butchered in front of her by vile men with no soul, the same ones that had cut into her throat to disable the glands that made her breath so toxic.

         You started to cry when her pain transferred to you, and you dropped Newt’s hand to reach out to her. When she butted her huge head into your palm, Newt gasped in wonder behind you. There was a moment of suspended air, then you were throwing your arms around the heavily muscled neck, burying your face in her thin, fine fur. She curled up around you then, one massive leg pulling you into her side as she would her cub.

          Credence stood a bit away, his face smoothed out with shock. You were nearly limp with exhaustion, but you offered him a weak smile anyway. You couldn’t remember a time where you’d ever felt so loved as in that moment with Cora, with the majestic mother wrapped around you so tightly. You wondered what it would have been like to have a human like her as your early caregiver, for both of you. Was it even possible to have a human mother like this? A sob stuck in your chest as Cora licked the side of your head, responding to your rising upset by grooming you sloppily.

         You watched as Newt nodded understandingly in your direction before taking Credence’s hand to lead him back out of the habitat, somehow knowing that you needed a bit of time. You fell asleep listening to the gentle rumblings, and there weren’t any dreams waiting for you.

*~*~*

         You dreamed of Mama often in those first six months. Despite living in a place so far away from the dingy areas of New York and the rundown church where you had existed for the first seventeen years of your life that it seemed like two completely different worlds, when you closed your eyes to sleep, you were back there. The ages varied, most were memories, some weren’t. The one you found yourself in that night wasn’t quite a memory, and not quite that something else. You were the age you’d been when Credence had disappeared from your memories. Fourteen, not quite developed but starting to fill out despite chronic malnutrition and your desperate pleas to the God that your Mama tried to beat into you that you never would. He never listened, just like he had never listened to you before.

         You were on the fire escape outside Credence’s attic bedroom, the two of you sitting on the rickety steps and leaning into each other for warmth. It had been so cold that night, the night air heavy with the threat of snow. “I’m gonna be going away, Baby,” he told you in that hushed voice that was so low that you could only hear it because you were so close. Your eyes had widened with horror, your heart seizing in your chest at the thought of him leaving you alone. This was where you realized this hadn’t happened, not in reality.

         You’d _seen_ it. And then the story had changed and even this little bit had been erased when the wizards had come to obliviate you, your sisters, and Mama. Newt had explained what obliviate meant. Your memories had been taken, just as Credence had been taken. Just like that, in a wave of a polished stick and a coldly spoken word, all the memories of the only person who ever cared for you… gone.

         Now, in this dream, you felt your heart break as Credence told you it was too dangerous for him to be around you, that there was an ugly evil inside him that would hurt you if he stayed. When you started to cry, he kissed you. Not like a brother kissed a sister, but like a boy kissed a girl. When his lips touched yours, it wasn’t like the man who tried to molest you in the back room of the chapel. It wasn’t like anything else you’d ever felt. His lips were soft, gentle.

         And then he was gone and you were in the loft, standing with your back to Mama as she held the switch from the birch in the backyard in her hands. The belt had always been for Credence, more out of the satisfaction she got from making him take it off and hand it to her. _“Filthy whore,”_ her words were spat rather than spoken. She never shouted when the punishments were like this. There was a cold fury to her when it was like this. You grit your teeth and gripped the railing as you tried to brace for it. “I didn’t raise you to lift your skirt to whoever jerks his chin at you.”

         You hadn’t ever lifted your skirt for anyone; the very thought sickened you. You didn’t dare contradict her. She started spouting bible verses at you, voice getting softer and softer as she came closer. By the time she was within reach, you felt like you were going to vomit. The switch swished through the air with a faint whistle and you couldn’t help the flinch when it connected with your lower back.

         She stepped back and you started to cry when she ordered, “Take off your blouse.”

         You woke up with a violent jerk, crying and curled up in as small a ball as you could manage, phantom pains arching across your spine. You jolt and whimper when a warm, solid body curved up around your back and an arm pulled you close. The smell of forest and soil tickled your nose and you relaxed, recognizing Credence’s scent. You could feel Newt hovering just beside the small bed they’d made for the bedroom they’d added for you down in the case. Your face burned at the realization that you must have been loud enough to wake them from their own bed on the opposite side of the shack. There were bedrooms upstairs in the cottage proper of course, but the three of you seemed to sleep much better surrounded by the habitats.

         Newt had become important to you, and the devil inside you seemed to like him, keeping silent about whatever went through his head. It was easier to stop the _knowing_ with him than it was with Credence. He was just… you figured it was the nature of his magic, the same magic that made the case so much like a living cushion. Safe. He was safe. You reached out a hand without looking at him, fingers searching out from under the blankets. This didn’t happen often, as much as the honey lights and sparks tried to tempt you, you kept yourself from indulging. He was too good for you to corrupt like that.

         The devil inside purred and whispered when he was near, but it didn’t shout, only spouted facts and statistics about the beasts that made up your home, and the creatures Newt was considering. Sometimes there were figures and numbers that made no sense at all, and a tender happiness when he thought of snippets of letters from different people. ‘Seus, somewhat annoyed, but all in fondness. Tina and Queenie, affection and a hint of anxiety. Jacob, the taste of sugar and wheat on the tongue and a marvelous, dazed smile; sweet, sweet, sweet. Percy, a little bitter, a little sad, happy relief, a growing regard and respect; everything a jumble, mixed emotions. You didn’t really like it when he thought of the man that had been taken and hidden while another took his face.

         He wasn’t thinking of anything in particular as he took your hand and moved to perch on the edge of the mattress. His sadness and worry were soothing, his chest heavy. The shiver of magic that expanded the space made you shudder and he shushed gently as he slid in next to you. “It’s all right, love. We’re here now, it’s all right.”

         When his arm slotted into place over your side next to Credence’s and your head was cushioned on the inside of his shoulder, the combination of their warmth and individual magic made everything okay again. But the tears still came, tumbling out just like the sobs that tried to choke you.

 

*~*~*


End file.
